


Live and learn

by Builder



Series: Spiderverse [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Bullying, Drunkenness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker and the terrible horrible no good very bad day, Sickfic, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Peter's sick at school after an awful prank, and he'd rather die than have May find out.  Enter Tony to assist...





	Live and learn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Kazoom, thanks for the req. I took your idea...then practically gutted it. I'm really sorry.
> 
> I feel like this trope is kind of done to death, so I’m working it in a little different direction. Hope this fits the bill. If I doesn't, go ahead and demand a refund and I'll try again.
> 
> Logistically, this works a lot better if Avengers Tower is still around, so consider it at some point in the Spiderman HC timeframe where the move upstate is still in progress.

Peter flushes the toilet and hauls himself up on his knees.  The nurse’s bathroom is a lot bigger than the other single-user restrooms in the school.  Cleaner, too.  Which is a nice change of pace. 

 

It’s a struggle to get his feet under him, and an even bigger one to stumble over to the sink and splash his face.  He’s having a hard time remembering which knob controls hot water and which controls cold.  Peter splits the difference and turns them both on.  The tepid stream doesn’t do a lot to make him feel refreshed. 

 

He eases around the bathroom’s door and sits heavily on the cot where his backpack’s already stationed. 

 

“Did it help?  To get sick?” The nurse asks, peering over her glasses at him.

 

“Nuh,” Peter grunts.  “Not…really.”

 

She squints at his slow speech.  “Call your parents, then?”  The nurse evidently has Peter’s information pulled up on her computer.  “Or, your aunt?”

 

No, no, she can’t do that.  She can’t call May.  If May ever finds out, he’s going to be dead…

 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll call,” Peter enunciates, pawing in his backpack for his phone.  “My, um.  Emergency contact.”  At least that’s what he hopes he said.  The wires linking his brain to his mouth don’t seem to be passing along signals all that well.

 

“Ok,” the nurse says, a little doubtfully.  She opens a Sudoku book, but Peter has a feeling she’s still watching him.  Or at least listening attentively.

 

Peter’s fingers are shaking, but he manages to blink through his blurred vision and find the name he’s looking for in his contacts.  He presses the call button and holds the device to his ear, silently praying _please pick up, please pick up, pleasepleaseplease_ …

 

“You’re at school.  Why are you calling me?”

 

“Thank fucking god.”  Whoops.  That wasn’t supposed to be out loud.  The nurse looks across the room, giving Peter a hard glare, but then a kid with a nosebleed bursts through the office door and otherwise occupies her attention. 

 

“Ok, weird,” Mr. Stark says.  “I’m guessing something’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t feel good,” Peter slurs.  His stomach is flapping back up toward his throat.

 

“So call May.  She’s your legal guardian, so I assume she does the tissues and the thermometers and stuff.”

 

“I can’t,” Peter says.  “I need yooooou.”  He doesn’t mean for the last word to stretch into such a whine.

 

“Jesus Christ, kid.  Are you, like, drunk or something?”  Tony laughs.

 

Peter doesn’t say anything.  He works through a burp that tastes somewhat like a cloud of May’s hairspray.

 

“Kid?” Tony asks.  Concern edges his voice.  “You…you’re not fucking serious.”

 

“Um.”  Now’s not the time to recount the thing.  The nurse is in the room.  Plus, the details are kind of fuzzy.  “Can you just…” Peter hiccups, bringing a fist to his mouth to press down the accompanying spurt of nausea.  “I don’t feel good.”

 

“I’m not your parent or guardian.”  It seems odd coming from Mr. Stark.  He’s never been one for rules.

 

“But…but can you…?”

 

“Hack your school’s recordkeeping system and write myself in as your emergency contact?” Tony says, maybe around a chuckle.  “Doing it as we speak.”

 

“Thanks…” Peter sighs.

 

“Ok.  I’ll be there in 15 minutes.  Where are you?”

 

“Nurse.”

 

“Oh, shit.  And she doesn’t know?”  Tony’s definitely laughing now.

 

“’M sick…”

 

“Yeah, yeah.  Coming,” Tony says.  “Stay put.”

 

“Ok.”  But the line’s already dead.  He drops his phone onto the cot’s plastic mattress and buries his face in his hands.  But then his stomach starts flipping again and he decides it’ll be better if he can see the horizon.  Except the nurse’s office is more like a box than a boat, and it ends up doing nothing for him.

 

The nurse has on latex gloves.  She grabs bloody tissues from the floor and tosses them into the trash.  “You ok?” she asks him.  “You got someone coming to get you?”

 

“Mm.”  Peter nods.  Swallows. 

 

“If you wanna just sit in the bathroom, that’d be ok.”

 

It seems pretty passive-aggressive of her, and for some reason it really pisses Peter off.  He rolls his eyes, which makes his head hurt.  He picks his phone up again and pretends to be playing with it while he stares at the fuzzy outline of his reflection in the shiny black screen.

 

He doesn’t pay attention to how much time passes, so it’s a surprise when Peter hears a familiar voice calling out, “Alright, kid, let’s go.” 

 

His head snaps up, bringing a ring of vertigo with it. 

 

Mr. Stark takes a step toward him, but the nurse inserts herself in the empty space.  “You need to check in, sir,” she says firmly. 

 

“He called me.  I have to come get him,” Tony explains, pointing vaguely at Peter’s slumped form.

 

“ID, please,” the nurse commands.  She takes the drivers’ license Tony proffers and walks back to her computer to check the name. “Anthony Stark,” she murmurs.  “Really?  You’re his emergency contact?  I thought, just his aunt…”

 

“Yeah, well, I got added pretty recently,” Tony says, a little too loud.  “But things with May are moving…pretty fast.”  He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Ugh,” Peter can’t help from groaning at the unwelcome mental image.

 

“Alright, Pete.”  Tony snatches his ID back from the nurse.  “Let’s get you home.  I don’t know how we let you leave the house this morning with that flu you’ve got.”

 

“Yeah, yeah…”  Peter tries not to stagger as he shoulders his backpack and finds his feet. 

 

“Yep.  Here we go.”  Mr. Stark grabs a handful of Peter’s shirt at the back of his neck and steers him out of the office.  Once they’re clear of listening ears, he hisses, “I’m parked right out front.  As soon as we’re in the car, you’re telling me everything.”

 

The afternoon sun is blindingly bright.  Peter’s head already hurts, but the piercing rays of light ratchet the pain up a few notches, reigniting the nausea all over again. 

 

“Ok, here,” Tony opens the passenger door of the silver Audi and practically shoves Peter inside.  He sits there uncomfortably with his backpack still on until Mr. Stark slips into the driver’s seat.

 

“You’re allowed to be comfortable,” Tony says.  “But really, kid?  You smell like jungle juice.  What the fuck happened?  You’re, like, so much smarter than this.”

 

“Sorry,” Peter says weakly.  Tony starts the car, and Peter hides a burp behind his hand.

 

“That’s not what I asked,” Mr. Stark redirects.  “You don’t even drink at parties.  Why were you drinking at _school_?”

 

“Didn’t…didn’t mean to,” Peter mumbles.  His stomach starts fizzing as soon as they leave the curb. 

 

“What, did somebody set you up?”  Tony’s looks at Peter with an expression of indignant fury.  “How’d that happen?”

 

Peter swallows and searches for words.  “You know…uh, those Mexican sodas?  In the glass bottles?”

 

“Yeah…?”  Tony seems unsure of whether it’s part of the story or a drunk ramble.  Come to think of it, Peter’s not so sure himself.  “Did somebody give you one?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Flash?”

 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Tony demands.

 

Peter inhales through his nose, willing the urge to vomit back down.  “Telling you?”

 

“Fuck, kid…”  Tony shakes his head.  “Why did you think that was a smart idea?  To take it?”

 

“It was in Spanish class?”  It comes out a little garbled.  There’s way too much spit in his mouth.

 

Tony gives a singular laugh.  “That thing had to be straight alcohol, cause you’re seriously fucked up.”

 

Peter’s jaw is numb.  He should say something, but the words won’t come together in his incoherent brain.  He opens his mouth, maybe to just hum in agreement, but a retch tears up his throat instead. 

 

“Whoa, whoa, ok,” Tony shouts, hastening to pull over.  It’s too late, though.  Peter’s lap and the leather seat are already coated.

 

He holds down the next heave until Tony drags him halfway out of the car, scaring a few pigeons as he throw up all over curb.

 

“Breathe, alright?” Tony instructs, patting Peter’s shoulder.  “You’re gonna be ok.”

 

Peter grunts.  Coughs.  “I’m fucking stupid.”  It comes out bubbly and barely intelligible.

 

“I’m…not gonna debate that,” Tony says.  “But do you feel like we can get going?  I’m taking you to the tower.  You can spend the night, dry out a little.”

 

“What about May?” Peter croaks.

 

“You’re…going on an educational retreat,” Tony says.  “Cause you’re learning from this.  Like it or not.”


End file.
